Saturday, May 27, 2017

Rising To The Sun...

Brume - Rooster (2017)

When we last heard from Brume, it was a couple of years ago, when they brought out their debut album, Donkey. The craggy bass-lines and deep valleys of beats have shifted with their new album, Rooster, moving to swifter tempos, a more intense general energy, and a more experimental approach to the song-writing. The vocals, which were a high point of the first album for me, have also received some tweaking, with some fun use of multi-tracking allowing Susie McMullin to sing against herself, swirl about, and slip verses in on the trailing sustains of their predecessors (check out “Harold” for some clear examples, or closing track “Tradewind” for some sharp soulfulness).
Maybe most noticeably, the drums move about much more, and while I didn't have any complaints about the action they offered in Donkey, I have to say that Rooster brings a wider scope to the territory Brume as a full band are able to cover, performing with high style all the while. At the same time, they've still got a handle on the psych-infused doom of their first album, with plenty of satisfaction for that vein streaming through tracks like “Calling the Serpent's Bluff” and “Tradewind”, and the savoring of that becomes all the richer for being something they've decided to hold close in the context of the band's expanded palette. Using the sophomore album to redefine their sound without losing what fans latched onto in the first album is an act that relatively few bands are able to pull off, but Brume have done a more-than-solid job of just that in Rooster. Fans of doom, go into this without building too many preconceptions; just do yourself a favor, take some time when you've got an hour to spare, and check it out in full.
~ Gabriel

For Fans Of; Acid King, Bell Witch, Blood Farmers, Dorthia Cottrell, Venus Sleeps


Saturday, May 20, 2017

Burning Transmission Fluid...

Stonerror - Stonerror (2017)

It's been about a year since Stonerror's debut EP, Rattlesnake Moan, but the Polish group has finally returned with eight new tracks of fuzzed bass foundations, groovy beat embellishments, snazzy guitar-work, and smoky vocals. Star-eyed psych and headbanging rock come together with tasty results, with some flavors like late-'90s alt rock providing an extra dose of ear-hooks for the melodies. The album moves fast, swaying and dipping through the down-beats and drifting warmth of the songs, and while it doesn't have the stylish dark tones of the group's EP, it's by no means a step down in quality.
Stonerror seem to have hashed out some of their weirder tendencies in the assembly of these tunes, finding something both more stylistically consistent and more upbeat, and calling to mind the sort of cozy musical blanket that you can just wrap yourself up in to while away an afternoon with a smile on your face. At the same time, they bring plenty of energy to bear in the songs, jamming in wild rock break-downs and tangled psych bridges, playing with tempos and time signatures, and generally having what sounds like a great time creating their music. One to blare through your speakers whenever you need some pick-me-up vibes, Stonerror also raise the question of whether their next release will be as much of a switch-up in their song-writing approaches as this one was to their last.
~ Gabriel

For Fans Of; Acid Elephant, Crown Larks, Frank Sabbath, Strato's, Vanilla Trainwreck


Sunday, May 14, 2017

Sweeps, Sticks & Stuns

Wreck Plus - Dark Construktor (EP) (2016)

“YOU'VE JUST STEPPED INTO A TIME MACHINE, AND IF ALL IS RIGHT... WELCOME TO 1976.” Feels about right, coming out of Paris France these guys do a 70s thing well more on the Horisont side than the Graveyard side if you know what I mean. Production is top notch with buzzy fuzzed out guitars and heavy on the refurb vocals (with a scream!). This is pretty much what I wanted from Truckfighters but they haven’t scratched that itch in a while. First track and title track “Dark Construktor” sits somewhere in the Vol. 4 era of Sabbath era tunes but this isn’t close to worship. It’s not exactly grand funk either which makes the band interesting. They’re obviously gunning for the 70s throwback thing but there’s a lot of unique stuff going on in to pull you in right off the bat. The crazy breakdown / ballad thing that happens 4 minutes into the first track gives you hints of how expansive this little EP really is. Second track roles right off the bat adding a little low end to the mix and letting the rhythm section shine a bit more. A change in vocal dynamics even gives it a bit of an Alice in Chains sound (just a hint). Things take a darker turn and we’re treated to some pretty cool dark choir vocals under some nice high riffage (and later high gloss organ!) Intermission “Arturia: Stellar Blacksmith” is heavy on the synth setting us up for the second half of this EP. REALLY nice touch, I feel like I found some old laserdisc that’s about to pull me through my TV and into the 4th Dimension. Leading into Starcrossed Lovers which almost has a Deep Purple vibe to it heavy and straight forward with a high squeal. Closing track “Esoterhythm” closing things out with some thunder. Heavy on the cymbals and heavy on the high riffs Wreck Plus play us out with a bang. I’m hoping these guys follow up with a concept full album, the attention to detail is fantastic.

For Fans OfTruckfighters, Master of Reality / Vol. 4 era Sabbath, Kyuss, Horisont, Captain Beyond


Saturday, May 13, 2017

Having A Ball...

REZN - Let It Burn (2017)

Making their debut with this album, the Chicago-based REZN (subtle, yeah?) touch down with ten tracks of spacy psychedelic stoner doom, trading in thick and heavy bass waves, tripped-out vocals, and effective use of drony tones to build some songs which carry a sense of immense weight and oncoming destruction. While the undulating distortion of the vocals can make them difficult to decipher, the way in which they're delivered makes it easy to pick up on their Sabbath-like crooning of doom and dread, and groove right along with it.
Thankfully, the band doesn't rely entirely on the common 'throw bass at the speakers until it solves everything' approach, as they show some nice tunefulness among the low-end swells, with tracks like “Orbit” and the back-to-back “Dread” and “Rezurrection” demonstrating the handle they have on melodiousness to go with the volume (with the last of those even bringing in some sitar-like strings for a taste of retro psychedelia). Interconnections between the songs step up the band's style even further, and the circling back through early song territory on their way through the rest of the album adds a neat sort of hypnotic time displacement to the experience.
All together, it's an impressive debut album, one which shows the band having a solid grip on their current style, but with room to grow on future efforts. The experimentation and riff playfulness provide strong points in REZN's favor, as does their tendency to work in some interesting atmospheric touches, and I'm urious to see how they'll change things up with their next release. Fans of heavy psych and space doom should check this crew out, the sooner, the better.
~ Gabriel

For Fans Of; Brume, Ritual Abuse-era Cough, Dopelord, pre-Buckingham Electric Wizard, Reptensol


Monday, May 08, 2017

Fear & Loathing at Desert Fest 2017 - Part 2

Day 2 


 I woke with the warm sun on my face, and a napkin. Saturday seemed to be beginning in much the same conscious state that Friday ended. Although I woke up spooning an empty Dominos pizza box and half empty bottle of Fanta. After praising a deity I don’t believe in for leaving me with orangey sustenance within arms reach, I checked my phone for some kind of pictographic evidence to try and piece together the latter of the previous night’s escapades. Through bleary eyes, well eye (I was still having to keep one closed to focus) I flicked through the photo’s…
Only one single, picture from the day before...

That was it. I’ll guess I’ll have to ask around. 

There wasn’t much of a hangover to speak of, which was disconcerting. Past experience has told me to expect a full scale biological assault on every one of my senses within the next two to four hours. Brace for a slow and impending death. 
Once able to focus with both eyes I got washed and dressed, rolled a joint of salvia and headed back out in the hope of catching Sonic Gypsy. 

I didn’t. 

The saliva hit me like a tennis racket to the face. Seemingly unlocking all the residual narcotics flowing throughout my blood stream and sending every last scrap directly to the centre of my brain. I fetched myself a pint of Guinness in the hope it would straighten me out enough to successfully converse with strangers. It seemed to do the trick. One of the chaps from Morass Of Molasses found me and struck up conversation. For the life of me I can’t recall what we talked about, but we seemed to hit it off and ended up chatting for some time. 
Most of the day flew by in a bit of a haze. There was a Chinese food buffet washed down with red wine (it seemed like a wise idea at the time) followed by gin and tonic by the canal. It all sounds very civilised, but in reality we must have looked like goth hobo’s to the passing general public. Thankfully this is Camden, and the whole goth hobo look is writhe on every corner, so I doubt anyone other than Asian tourists batted an eyelid after stumbling upon us. 

Following a brisk romp back, the first band I managed to catch was Iron Witch, raising hell upstairs in the Black Heart. We’d rocked up a little on the late side and the queue to see them was trailing down the stairs and along the side of the bar. We finally managed to fight our way in with just two songs left to spare. The Liverpudlians and certainly drawn a hell of crowd. Over the sprawling sweaty masses of heads and shoulders I could just make out a number of crusty dreadlocks whipping around and the occasional guitar headstock. The roar was deafening, even through my earplugs that I’d thankfully not managed to loose the night before. It was safe to say the guys were killing it.

As the set wound down and the rising in everyones ears began we were unceremoniously washed back down the stairs by the crowd evidently desperate for a gasp of fresh air. Taking a quick glance at the days stage times we high tailed it back over to The Underworld to catch most of Celeste’s set. I’ve been told to check them out on multiple occasions but I have to admit they’re not a band I’m all that familiar with. I would advise though, not to catch them while tripping your balls off. Their dark post metal ambience coupled with their unique stage show consisting of dry ice and red head torches is enough to strike fear into even the most seasoned psychonaut. Even stood way towards the back I was hit full on with a mix of both wonderment and fear by the sonic and visual experience. Not usually my go-to genre I was still left highly impressed by the French black metal quartet. It’s also worth mentioning, they easily won the prize for best merch of the weekend in my book too. 

Following their set, which I wish I’d got to catch more of we all headed off to find food. Casually forgetting Inter Arma were up next and I was looking forward to checking them out. By the time we returned the stage was empty and the masses were heading out. Piss poor timing. Not to be deterred and now at a bit of a loose end we headed back stage and before I knew it I found myself drinking with the guys. Trey (I believe - my face-to-name recollection is awful even when I’m sober) asked if I had ‘anything’ on me. I pushed all the empty cans and bottles on the table to one side and began emptying my pockets. Oli began laughing at the stunned faces looking down and the ever increasing pile of narcotics in the centre of the table. 

“Whats this” someone asked reaching down to pick up a bag.

“Mimosa” I replied. “You can make a drink out of it or just chew it… Right, thats the lot”.
“Jesus fucking christ”! 

“He’s like a wizard”
Oli responded, patting me on the back and handing me another can.

“Whats this”!?
“That’s ether. Careful with that shit, don’t smoke around it”. At which point I snatched it from their hands. “We’ll probably get into this rotten shit later on”. 

After introductions, lines were racked, drinks exchanged and the inevitable questions began flowing. All until I scrambled around in my pockets and pulled out another bag, handed two of the guys a bag and told them to eat.

The room when quiet. 

“What are they”? 

“Dried shrooms dude, just in capsule form”.

“Great, I love shrooms”!

They both took a couple of the small musty looking capsules and threw them back. 

“You’ll need a couple more”.

I pushed two more into their hands. Glancing concerned looks at each other they nervously swallowed them too. Looking down at the mere two I had left, I announced that two would be no bloody use to me so handed them over.

“Oh, I think I’ve had enough”.

“You can fuck that sky high mate. Stop being a pussy. Two won’t touch me, take them.” 

Now, with a slight look of terror in their eyes they reluctantly washed them down with the provided lager. 
The overwhelming sense of the room was nervousness, and I could feel eyes darting back and forth between me and my two “science experiments”.

“If I'm out there naked on the intersection later, please will you bring me back in”.

“Sure thing man”.

At which point I patted them on the shoulders, said “I’ll see you on the other side” and strolled just in time to catch Scissorfight clearing all their equipment from the stage. I felt like overstayed my welcome and without me realising Oli had wondered off. The guys were lovely, but I became acutely aware that I was stood there in silence for prolonged periods of time and it was no doubt becoming awkward as fuck. To them some random guy and his enormous friend and bust into their dressing room and instantly plied them with exotic weird and wonderful narcotics before even introducing themselves. Oh, and they were knocking back our beers at an alarming rate too. No, it was most certainly time for me to retreat, so I headed to the bar to grab some more whiskey before trying to locate someone I knew. As I downed my drink it dawned on me that I’d left something on the table backstage. I wondered back and the guys were all stood in a circle around said table peering down at it. I excused myself and reached between them to pick up the small brown bottle and pipette they were staring at. I held it up to the light and saw it was still at the same level I’d left it at. 

“I knew none of you fuckers would be dumb enough to touch this shit”. I said and placed it back into my jacket pocket. 
They all laughed as I turned to the fridge, grabbed a beer said “I’m taking this. See y’all later” before walking out. I felt I’d left on a slightly better note this time and happily strolled to once again find someone I knew. 

This proved to be pretty unsuccessful and after aimlessly walking in circles I opted to return back to the dressing room… Everyones faces were different. Wait, what had I taken? Had it just kicked in?… Evidently looking completely baffled, Matt explained that Inter Arma had gone and he subsequently introduced me to Bongzilla. Mike shook my hand and asks “are you the chemist guy”? I squint and turn to Oli who had happened to spot me and followed me in. 

“Oh yeah, people are calling you The Chemist now”. 

“I guess I am then”. 

“Have you got any coke”? 

“You don’t beat around the bush do you”
I smile and Mike pats me on the back. 
We’re all stood around chatting for a while when a voice from behind shouts “on in five minutes”! At which point a monster of a joint is thrust towards my chest. 

“Oh, go on then” I mutter and I take a big drag.
For some reason waiting for me to fully inhale first, I hear Oli whisper in my ear “Thats all weed” …I look down at the faint green phallic looking thing between my fingers and cough.

Oh, I’m going to regret this I think, before foolishly taking another hit and handing it back. 
Now, I’ve smoked on and off for a number of years, but when I do I tend to be no good for anything. I’ll happily just sit in a comfy chair and laugh myself silly. With that in mind, I’m in complete awe of Bongzilla. Anyone who’d have walked into that room five minutes prior to them hitting the stage would have been met by the most overwhelming contact high alone. Seriously, it was like someone had a dry ice machine in there. How they’re able to maintain such a tight set after smoking that much is nothing short of a miracle. But that they did. I watched in awe as they blistered through their first of two sets planned for the London audience. This set, consisting solely of their early work, got straight off to a thunderous start. Bathed in their token green light they instantly began to melt the faces of the completely packed out Underworld crowd. I wish I could offer a more detailed description of the show, but having smoked with them prior, and now standing just three feet from the the band I’ve been dying to catch for around 15 years now, it was all I could do to stand there utterly transfixed. It all went by in a gut rumbling, green, endorphin releasing blur. I evidently wasn’t the only one that enjoyed the spectacle, as during their final song I looked down to see one girl in the front row below me, passed out, face down on the edge of the stage. This picture really typifies the whole show… 

 In some what of a euphoric state, I don’t recall much of the following hour or so or actually leaving The Underworld. My next memory is talking to an old rocker outside of The Black Heart, who kindly gave me a cigarette as it had just dawned on me I’d left nearly a whole pack of Lucky Strikes and the remainder of my weed elsewhere. I recall discussing the role of Sabbath in influencing the likes of Sleep, The Obsessed and Yob. The pros and cons of prog rock and Triumph bikes. I told him how my old man had grew up in Aston and had seen Sabbath’s very first gig after changing their name from Earth. He hugged me, offered me another cigarette and I politely excused myself. What ever it was I’d taken earlier was beginning to wear off and I needed to maintain. I fought my way to the bar where someone handed me a rum and coke. Oh, sweet sweet sustenance. Around this time Oli returned grinning from ear to ear in his trade mark way. I explained that what ever the fuck I’d taken had run its course and I was now beginning to lag. 

“Thats the ether”.
I shouted back. 

“The ether, don’t you remember? We huffed it before Bongzilla”!

Well, shit. That explains my loss of basic motor skills and inability to maintain a steady trajectory. I knew we’d get into that rotten shit sooner rather than later. 

“Here, take this”. 

As a small baggy was pushed into my hands. What a life saver. 

On the way to ‘refuel’ Mike from Bongzilla ambushed me once again. Plying me with a beer and asking me if I could find him any “stuff”.
“Ah, some dusty showbiz? Follow me my good man”! 

It’s a weird scenario being locked in a toilet cubicle with one of your musical idols, and don’t let anyone tell you any different. It’s not the first time I’ve found myself in this predicament either. Similar instances have occurred with guys from Eyehategod, Raging Speedhorn and most of Church of Misery to name just a few. The surreal-ness of this position never fails to astound. You take the hit, stand up, then proceed to try and make small talk, before one of you comes down just enough to realise that you’re both stood in a dank, shit smelling, cramped box, chatting bollocks, mere inches from each others faces. At which point the more compos of the two of you reaches for the lock and excuses themselves. 
So, as Mike opened the door and left, Oli returned asking for his stash back. 

“FUCK! Mike’s got it!” 

Luckily Oli was able to explain that this was a misunderstanding and retrieve his hard earned devil’s dandruff. It’s a good job that big ol’ bastard loves me, because although out of it, that was a dick move on my part. 
Suitable scorned, and with recompense made in the form of a beer, we continued the night sat at the bar occasionally getting up to request songs from Julia, who was doing and absolutely stellar job of DJ’ing. 
My final recollection of the night was singing along to Queen then yodelling to Hocus Pocus by Focus with a compete stranger, before deciding enough was enough and staggering my way back in the general direction of my bed.

 End of day 2.


Saturday, May 06, 2017

Witches, Cyborgs, and Nightmares...

MotherSloth - Moon Omen (2017)

Having last heard from MotherSloth with their first full album, Moribund Star, back in 2014, I was thrilled to get word that a second album had been assembled, and that the band had joined Argonauta Records for its release. And with a helping of six full-sized songs, MotherSloth are showing off how they've grown in the years since their last release, with a tight sound to their playing that doesn't compromise the expansiveness of their doom-soaked sojourns.
The bass is nice and thick, but with appreciable texture to its waves, while the guitar fills in dozens of tense curls and turns. As the drums lay down firm beats, the vocals find a space somewhere between the clean melodies of the '70s and the rougher standards of today, wrapping the human presence up in a cloak of ominous down-tuning. On the down-side, they're sounding less cosmic than they were on Moribund Star, with the touches of spacy psychedelia to the tone-weaving being practically absent this go-round (though “Doomsday Cyborg” gives it a bit of incorporation into the more grounded form). Things are more definite now, without room for ambiguity, and while I'm sad to hear the previous style abandoned, I can't say that MotherSloth do a bad job with their new direction.
Most of the experimentalism in Moon Omen lurks in the details of the production, with back-mixed spoken-word touches, channel-sliding, and other subtleties adding a surprising depth of material for careful listeners. The cymbal treatment works especially well with the band's sound (check out “Wish for Dawn” below for a great example), and all in all, it sounds like the band is nice and comfortable with their musical development.
~ Gabriel

For Fans Of; Abstracter, Disenchanter, Moon Curse, Pallbearer, Tempus Terra


Friday, May 05, 2017

The Buzz In South Africa...

Ruff Majik - The Swan EP (2017)

Hell yeah, this fucking rips!  Everybody’s whining about the snare sound but they’re a bunch of morons.  Coming out of Pretoria, South Africa, this whole thing has an awesome, great '60s/'70s blown-out vibe to it, kinda similar to Boris’ heavy fast stuff.  Great transitions between songs give this EP a sweet consistent feel.  Apparently these guys have just been busting out EPs the last year and I haven’t heard.  The groove and riffage never ends. 
First track “Horse drawn wrath spawn (godspeed)” latches onto the riff immediately before everything takes off and runs, while the vocals have this crazy Seeds/Axl Rose on mescaline thing going on.  The second track, “Cloak full of Serpents”, slows things down a bit but ups the energy.  The drums have a nice boom bap to them while the guitarist just kinda winds up and chucks notes up and over yer head.  Nice open and slow lyrics give this a bit of early Monster Magnet vibe, just a lot heavier on the drugs.  You can taste the neon.  Halfway through the track things breakdown a bit and Ruff Majik enters into full Humboldt jam mode, almost getting into Howling’ Rain territory.  The standout track “Honey in a lion corpse” seems to be a toss-up to Earth in track title and sound, although Ruff Majik can’t slow down that much and substitute notes per second with that overblown fuzz Earth is known for.  Tracks “Monarch of the hills” and “Scalp chiseler” round this amazing EP out, but stop reading this and go listen to it, everyone. 

For Fans OfW.I.T.C.H, Kyuss, Monster Magnet, Truckfighters, Boris


Tuesday, May 02, 2017

Fear & Loathing at Desert Fest 2017 - Part 1

Day 1 - 

To say that Desert Fest 2017 began as it meant to go on would be an understatement.
Having dropped a good quarter of my supply of Salvia extract while waiting for the train to London was, in retrospect, not one of my most stellar ideas. Dealing with the rush of blood to the back of my head while the train thundered through the Great British countryside, took all of the fortitude I could muster. Then being met with the pulsating and undulating face of a stern ticket inspector demanding some kind of validity for my presence. After what felt like an eternity staring right through his beady little eyes, the penny finally dropped and I understood what he was actually wanting from me. I cautiously opened my bag and began scurrying around, before proudly reemerging, ticket in hand and a with a smug look of satisfaction on my face. He looked me up and down one final time before handing me back the slip of paper and wandering off back down the carriage. Relieved, I waited a few minutes before delving back into my bag to assess that my mobile pharmacy was still intact.
1 x bag of weed
1 x bag of Salvia
1 x bag of Mimosa
100 x Hawaiian baby Woodrose seeds 
1 x small bottle of ether
2 x large handfuls of mushrooms
75cl of Jim Beam
20ml of Salvia extract

20 x Lucky Strikes

I figured that if I’m going to finally see Sleep live, it has to be done righteously.

Other than the awkward encounter with the ticket guy, the journey down was relatively uneventful. I occasionally scribbled in my notepad while I listened to Mountain Witch Scythe and Dead Horse and The Heavy Eyes. I’d elected to sit in the quiet carriage as I figured I’d either drop something or start drinking disgustingly early in the day. At some point around Milton Keynes some wretched little bastard of a child began running up and down the aisle banging on the chairs. It quickly gave me bad vibes. I recall sticking my out and scowling up and down between the seats for saying “Doe’s this little prick have an off switch?!”. A brown haired woman in a tracksuit glared back at me a few seats down.
I didn’t see or hear the kid again until we pulled into Euston. 

I always hate this part of the trip. The long trek up from the platform into the station. In the crowd. Either behind someone who doesn’t understand the whole stair/escalator etiquette or someone who just can’t physically cope with the simple task of walking in a straight line. My fuse is too short for this city. I put on Cancer Bats Hail Destroyer, punch the open door button and burst out onto the platform. As my foot hits the ground I realise I’m in the very last carriage. Whats more, I’ve just spotted that little dickhead child a good 10 meters in front of me. I put my head down, turn my music up and charge up the ramp and towards the underground.
I slyly topped myself up with whiskey before I made the journey down towards the Northern Line. As I navigated the underground in a slightly bewildered state I recalled the worlds of a great man - “Go to London, I guarantee you’ll either be mugged or not appreciated”. 
For the best part, I agree with this statement. I’ve had predominantly good times here, but I’ve always been happy to leave. I woke up in Croydon once. That was pretty shit as I recall. To this day I’ve still no recollection of how I got there. I also fell out of a moving van, while on the way to play at a venue called the Purple Turtle. That being said, the same night the guy who drove us down strolled into an alley to take a surreptitious leak but was bet by a group of big black guys. They wouldn’t let him leave until he smoked some crack with them… I guess I got off pretty lucky. 

When I finally got to Camden I was met by my mate who took me straight over to get my various wristbands and passes. The kid asked for my arm, which I outstretched, and he immediately slapped the first paper band on, sticky side down and onto my hair. “Oh, you bastard” I said. He ripped if off and tried again, leaving a perfectly square bald patch on the back of my wrist. This wound me up more than it should have, so I made a B line to the Black Heart and grabbed a Jack and Coke before heading off to find someone who I knew and a well deserved smoke. 

Grave Lines opened up the weekend’s proceedings with aplomb. Striding out onto the Underworld’s stage like they were the home team, which to be fair would be a safe assumption. Between them they’ve all faced that underground crowd, in one iteration or another, more times than most. So this wasn’t unfamiliar territory. 
Launching straight into Drug Cold - as slow and sombre an affair as they come, the quartet immediately began laying waste to the now packed room with a sonic down-tuned thunder that’s only usually reserved for the most seasoned of acts on the three day bill. 
Having consumed a healthy amount of ale prior to trudging down the stairs to the venue, followed by another few back stage beers and the odd joint, my well oiled state was now trying to focus on the band themselves. With bass player Matt, lurking in the shadows at the far side of the stage, all I could occasionally make out were his dreads thrashing back and forth and catching the light, like the tentacles of a Kraken lashing out of the gloom. I made my way through the churning crowd just as Blind Thamyris hits it’s stride and Jake bellows “You’re a parasite…” and I’m met with the full force of the band’s unwavering aggression. As I make my way back to the side of the stage I think back to the last time I’d seen a band unleash this much bone shaking doom and ferocity, and the only show that comes to mind is Eyehategod, back in the mid 2000’s sometime. There’s something that they both share that I can’t quite put my finger on while I’m in this state. Something unbendingly dark and sinister.
Just as I get back to my place I catch Julia splinter one of her sticks and in the same unwavering stride pull another up from beside her. It’s sums up the set perfectly - like entropy personified. Everything feels likes its being destroyed. Crushing bass, ever slowing riffs and the deliberate dismantling of the audience’s soul, and they seem to be loving it. 
As Cronus Chain ends and the set draws to a close a half naked Ollie raises his guitar to the ceiling like a battle weary Norse making an offering to Thor. Before lowering it back down and turning to face the amp and unleash what can only be described as a spleen bruising amount of reverb. As the roar begins to subside and the Orange amps draw a sigh of relief I soon realise I’m all but deaf on my left hand side. Wincing and shaking my head I turn around and notice no less that five or six other poor individuals who neglected the use of ear plugs, all with one finger waggling in their ear and moving their jaws from side to side. All trying to regain some sense of equilibrium, as they stagger back towards the welcoming glow of the bar.
Round one goes to Grave Lines.

The rest of the day descended quickly in to a bit of an intoxicated blur. I referred to my garbled notes…

“Drinking with Jason and Lisa from The Well. Missed 1000 Mods and Pontiac but super nice folks”

“Explained to one of the guys from Vodun why it wasn’t sensible to wonder around here with no shoes on”

"Lost cigarettes".

“Why you so expensive London!?!?!” - I think I’d just bought a round
"Don't take the ether. Don't take the ether. Don't take the ether".
“Who’s the person who keeps on running on stage during Slo Burn!?”

“We shouldn't have huffed that etherrrrrrr” 
“Cymbal Decapitation” - ?? 
“Ate a whole pizza and wings” - I have no recollection of this

End of Day 1.